


Sisterly Advice

by DoubleL27



Series: HP Head-canon [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Weasley Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:50:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2350658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleL27/pseuds/DoubleL27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Weasley is not an easy woman to have as a future mother-in-law, particularly on Christmas.  Luckily for Angelina, she's not the first woman who has had trouble getting past the Weasley matriarch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sisterly Advice

**Author's Note:**

> I love Molly, but there are times...She is one tough lady. My head-canon surrounding Percy and his life has been completely inspired by even if it kills me by thatdarkhairdedgirl. Go read it if you haven't. A semi-companion fic to my What They Think.

Christmas at the Burrow was always chaotic: Molly shouting orders, people bustling, and Arthur staying out of the way. Molly yelling again because her children were not great listeners in the first place. For Angelina Johnson it was a practice in not exploding or wanting to peel her skin off. The Weasleys’ had long been some of her favorite people. Charlie had been a shiny quidditch hero when she had gone to school and she’d quickly made friends with Lee and The Twins. Percy she had never minded. Ron had only been a slightly difficult keeper to coach but Ginny had become one of her best friends. Bill she’d met later but always liked. Arthur was the nicest man she had ever met, ever.

 

The Weasley she had yet to get to get along with was Molly. There was nothing Angelina could seem to do about it. The day that Ginny had signed on for the Harpies and taken the second room in Angie’s flat had been strike one. When George told the family that he and Angelina were seeing each other had been strike two. Their engagement and the prospect of yet another wedding had done nothing to alleviate the situation. And on this, her first Christmas as George Weasley’s fiancee was going no better than any other holiday she had spent here.

 

For the most part, Molly ignored her. There was the occasional snide comment from her future mother-in-law that did not go unnoticed by Angelina if it seemed to fly under everyone else’s radar. It was, it seemed, when she got under Molly’s feet or offered to help that Molly spoke to her.

 

“Really, Mrs. Weasley,” Because she couldn’t possibly fathom calling her Molly at this point to her face, “I’d be glad to help.”

 

The false smile she got from the family matriarch made her stomach turn. Her mother had taught her to be polite but there were times where she wanted to remind Mrs. Weasley that Angelina was a guest and to be treated with respect. “Hermione and Ginny are plenty of help dear,” Molly said in a dismissive tone that set Angelina’s teeth on edge. “They’ve both been helping me here for so long, you know. They’re also much more suited for such fine detail work.”

 

Without actually looking Angelina in the eye, Molly called for Charlie to go get items out of the attic and pushed food at Harry, reminding him how thin he was and that she had made his favorites per usual. He was, after all, instrumental in giving her another grandbaby.

 

Angelina choked on a scream as she heard, “Mum, honestly!” from Ginny Potter’s mouth. At least her teammate and former-flatmate was willing to stick up for her: especially as her fiancé remained silent on the matter, currently engrossed in a conversation with Ron over one of his latest inventions.

 

Not wanting to wait for the humiliation to get any worse, Angelina strode to the door, grabbed her broom but not her cloak and took no care to close the door quietly. It slammed behind her as she blew out into the cold, night air. Let Molly Weasley think of her as a woman incapable of refinement. She could have sworn she heard a decisive “Hmpfh” and a “You see-“ before Angelina kicked off the steps and into the frigid wind.

 

Breathing deeply felt like razor blades were slashing at her lungs. Angelina let the conjured snowflakes fall around her as she pressed herself higher into the night sky. The feeling of freedom and lightness that always came with flying did little to solve the greater problems that Angelina was having.

 

She was just going to stay up in the air until someone came to get her or she felt that she could walk into the house without shouting at someone, or worse, crying.

 

When the slamming door reverberated through the first floor of The Burrow, all of the eyes in the room continued to be cautiously everywhere but where the action was. George fell out of his conversation with Ron and started towards the door but Fleur put her hand on the arm of the sofa and began levering her heavily pregnant body to a stand. "Non, non, non," she called after George while awkwardly pushing herself up.  
  


Within seconds, her husband, whom she had hoped would be less troubled by her second pregnancy, was hovering beside her. "Fleur, shouldn't you--"  
  


She grabbed his arm and if her nails sunk through the edge of his jumper and into his flesh, one might never know from the smile on her face. Bill never flinched as she used it as a better solution to her problem and within seconds her belly, heavy with their second child, pressed against him.  "I am fine. I won't be out long."  
  
George glanced at the door anxiously, "She might--"

  
  
She waved his concerns off. She was grateful he was at least concerned about his intended storming out of the house. Not that Fleur could blame Angelina.   "C'est Noel. She is not far."  Fleur said definitively. "Accio cloak," she intoned twice with the proper flick of her wrist.

  
  
As deftly as she could for being as full with her second child as she was, Fleur put her own cloak around her shoulders.  Then she neatly folded up the other into a neat bundle under her arm. Bill was ready with all kinds of admonishments and careful words but Fleur gave him a silencing look.  
  


And with a sense as strong as her eldest, Molly’s voice came to her as she poked her head out of the kitchen. "Fleur dear, you should be resting."  
  
Funny how nearly ten years could pass and everything changed. She glanced over at her mother-in-law, whom had come to love her somewhere in the years following Bill’s injuries. "Merci Molly," Fleur answered with a smile.  "I 'ave been resting all day.  Le bebe," she began in French, knowing the language made it much harder for Molly to argue with her.  She rubbed her hand over her belly.   "Il me fait tres chaud."  She mimed waving her hand as a fan.

  
  
"Oh, they always do," Molly said with a knowing nod. "Dinner will be ready soon.”  


  
Fleur hoped Molly didn’t notice the brittle nature of her smile.   "Bill will come get me before then."  


  
"Maman!” Victoire called, scrambling around the corner, “Tu m’emmene!"  


  
Fleur felt the little arms of her beautiful girl catch her around the legs. She bent as best she could with her belly in the way and gave Victoire a kiss on the head. "Non, ma petite,” she insisted, running a hand over the strawberry blond hair that hung down her back, “Tu reste ici.  Je pence qu'Oncle Percy besoin une amie."  
  
  
With her daughter scampering over to continue try and put back the pieces of her uncle's heart back together, Fleur leaned her unsteady body up to kiss her husband's cheek before wobbling her way to the door.

 

Fleur stepped down the small set of steps, much ignoring her husband’s mother-henning about her being cautious on the stairs. (There were times Bill Weasley put his mother to shame). As she thought, dancing in the air above her was a slim, dark figure with bright purple robes that barely showed against the clouds as the darkness continued to settle. Fleur whispered, “Lumos” and flicked her wand to give light and let it illuminate her as well as the cloak over her arm. Standing there, enjoying the cold air, Fleur settled in to wait.

 

The flicker of light caught her eye first. Angelina turned about suddenly wondering who had followed her out. Not wanting to row with George over his mother on Christmas Eve, she hoped it wasn’t him.

 

Unless her eyes were deceiving her, her very pregnant, soon to be sister-in-law stood out in the magical snow holding out…holding Angelina’s cloak.

 

Anger was still coursing through her veins but, at the moment, the gesture was the kindest thing that had happened to her all bleeding day. Add to that the fact that Fleur looked ready to explode with her second child and had no business being out in such temperatures, Angelina forced herself to float down to the other woman’s level.

 

“I thought you might be cold,” Fleur told her, voice still accented though lighter than it had been.

 

“I…thanks,” Angelina decided on as she reached out to take the cloak and put it around her own shoulders.   She stopped for a moment before turning to Fleur, “Sometimes, that woman…”

 

“Mmmm.”

 

“She hates me. She _hates_ me,” Angelina repeated, tears pricking at her eyes, but she would not allow them to fall. Instead, the words that she had been bottling up exploded from her, “For going on a handful of dates with Fred long before the war got serious. The most serious thing he and I ever did was go to the Yule Ball and have a quick snog and a grope in the bushes. You’d think Fred proposed marriage to me when we were 17 by the way Molly acts. Like he died…” The anger and grief at the loss of her friend and the way it colored even the best things stole her words. She took a breath and continued, “Like he died and I just had to have George as a consolation prize. Like Fred and I were ever really more than friends or that George could ever actually be considered a consolation prize for anyone let alone Fred.

 

“I loved Fred, as a friend, but George… “ There weren’t words for what she felt for George. You wanted a hero. You wanted someone strong. George was it. “Fuck.” Sometimes she loved him so much it hurt. There weren’t enough places to keep all of the feelings she had for him.

 

“Not to mention, I am not her idea of a lady. I don’t know if it’s that I play sport professionally, that I have no intention of staying home if I have kids- if I have kids- or that I’m not all pale and freckly like her kids. And then, THEN, I managed to talk Ginny into my unladylike world of sport. How dare I-How dare I- take her beloved and precious only girl and make her into a quidditch player.”

 

“As if you could make Ginny anything she did not want,” Fleur says, finally feeling the ability to chime in as Angelina seemed to have rung herself dry of all of her words.

 

Angelina turned to see the smirk on the French woman’s face. “Exactly.” She swung her leg over the edge of her broom and settled her feet firmly on the ground. Looking at Fleur and unable to know what to think of the other woman, she said, “This is the part where everyone tells me I’m crazy.”

 

Fleur remembered that feeling. When Bill would insist it wasn’t her and that they would all just get over it. That no one really hated her.   _They had_. “Non, you are not crazy,” she answered with a shake of her head. “We are alike, nous.”

 

“What?”

 

“M’ecoute,” she insisted, threading her arm through Angelina’s companionably. “Molly, she does not, how you say, care for outsiders. There is her peoples and there is everyone else. You and I, we are not her peoples.”

 

“You are now.”

 

Fleur heard and felt the bitterness in her companion’s voice. “Ten years and two bebe’s later,” she said with a small smile, rubbing her extended stomach, “Oui. Quand I started, mais no.”

 

The lonely days, where it felt like Bill was her only friend in the maze of Weasleys and Harry when he was there and present, were not ones she missed but she could not help but remember them. It would be rude to point out that if Molly does not like her at least Angelina is well liked by the entire family. The family as a whole respects her, her job and her life choices. She was their friend before she was to be George’s wife. Still, Ginny’s slights would have been far less if Molly had shut her daughter down at the start.

 

“Les autres,” Fleur starts, sharing with Angelina what she’s learned through experience, “‘Arry et ‘Ermione, they were like ‘er own children. Children without parents to properly guide them in the magic world, Molly got to take them in. ‘Ermione ‘as told me, now that we are friendly, about the time Molly didn’t speak to her after Rita Skeeter wrote that she was playing Viktor et ‘Arry…” Angelina found herself smiling as the other woman shook her head and rolled her eyes. “That is even with Molly loving ‘er generally. Et Penelope, qu’elle repose en paix, la malheureuxeuse, apres Azkaban…she was never well. She needed to be cared for, in a delicate way- people to look after her.

 

“You and I, we are not so,” Fleur said, “You may have been the twins friend but you did not live here for summers and holidays. We are not the type to censure ourselves or to pretend that Molly’s way is the only way or to fall into her opinions.”

 

The needles of the day still prickled Angelina’s skin. “She’s so excited Ginny’s pregnant,” she mentioned to Fleur and wondered if it was insensitive considering the other woman was herself with child. Still, it was more than that for Angelina so she continued, “All the hints that Ginny should just give up quidditch and be a proper mum. Probably will too.” As happy she was her friend was happy, losing Ginny on the pitch and getting closer to losing one of her closest allies in the family was almost too much. “I don’t think she has even congratulated George or me on our engagement.”

 

Angelina sighed and looked at the one she was gaining. From the time she and George had realized their friendship was something more, it never really seemed that Fleur had ever been out of place amongst the Weasleys. “She really hated you?”

 

“They,” Fleur corrected, looking at the snow but almost looking past it, “They ‘ated me: Molly, Ginny and ‘Ermione. Ginny called my Phlem every time she got a chance. Molly never stopped ‘er. ‘Ermione would leave the room or pretend I didn’t exist and when Ron would be Ron and notice me… well…she and Ron can be very similar when it comes to matters of the ‘eart.”

 

“I didn’t realize…what changed?”

 

“Bill. Fenir Grayback,” she amended, as he had been the impetus, “ but Bill. Molly was convinced I was the snooty, French veela she conjured in her mind and that now that my fiancé was damaged that I would run. ‘He was to be married.’ I was furieux. I took the cloth from her hand and pushed her out of the way and reminded her that I was handsome enough for both of us. I began taking care of my future-husband. They liked me slightly more. Then I had babies…and Ginny and ‘Ermione got what they wanted. I was not so much a threat anymore.”

 

Angelina thought of the similarities. Her romance with George had begun after they had lost Fred. Angelina liked to believe she was a help to him, as he had been to her in the years following the war. Apparently, that wasn’t enough. “So I need to have George’s babies? I don’t even know if either of us wants babies.”

 

Fleur nodded contemplatively. “Molly has a hard time with her boys. Bill was her first, her oldest baby. George and Percy are tied for the ones who ‘ave seen the most tragedy. She wants to know you love ‘im for ‘im and that you’ll take care of him. She’ll come round. Bill was right on that one.”

 

Angelina couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice as she said, “I didn’t realize I was remiss in caring for George.”

 

“You are not, and you know it. If nothing else, you must survive her. Do not let her come between you and George. It is hard, being in love with a Weasley man. They are utterly terrified of their Maman and they are not used to saying her no. He ‘asn’t given you up. This is a good thing.”

 

Angelina tried not to look askance at the way Fleur noded decisively on that one. “I suppose Christmas Eve dinner is about to begin.”

 

“Mmm, come or someone will come looking for us.” Fleur turned them both, leaning more heavily on the other woman than she liked to admit. The shadows, one tall and slim and the other short and stocky, pulled back from the window but not before Fleur was certain they both watched the whole exchange. She hoped they’d put their spying to use and have another important conversation, brother to brother, of what it is like to watch two of the women you love most struggle to find any common ground. Or not struggle at all, on one person’s part.

 

“You will sit by me,” Fleur insisted as she waddled her way up the stairs. “We will have a Joyeux Noel.”


End file.
